Merry Christmas, Indeed
by nyakattia
Summary: Christmas sucks. Or at least it does for Stella and Flack. Fiesta. DL. Some swearing.
1. Chapter 1

The spirit of Christmas had obviously missed a few people this year. It was early morning, around 4am, on the 24th of December when Flack responded to the call out. It was also cold, the kind of cold that seeped through the layers of his clothing and into his bones and almost made him believe that he would never be warm again.

When he got to the scene he got down to business, interviewing witnesses, getting the woman's ID. She apparently lived there alone, had done for years. No one really knew her at all- she was some kind of lawyer and was hardly ever home. No one had heard anything. Flack eyed the empty bottle of wine the lay on the coffee table and the gun that had come to rest against the sofa cushions, and considering the time of year, made an educated guess at COD.

He looked up at the movement at the door, and stilled when Stella walked in. His throat involuntarily choked on any of the remarks he might have made about sending out a lead CSI for a simple suicide case on Christmas Eve. Instead he nodded to her, acutely aware of the uniformed officer standing just outside the doorway, listening to every word they said.

She nodded back, with a curt, "Detective."

He cleared his throat. "Sandra Donovan, 38. Looks like a suicide to me."

He stood there for a few minuets, waiting to see if she had any questions about the case. She seemed absorbed in her work, paying no attention to him at all as she examined the body. He shifted a little, tried not to look at her too much. How much was too much anyway? And who was going to fucking see if he was looking at her?

He ended up staring blankly at the collection of photographs that lined a nearby cabinet and sighed inaudibly. He hoped someone up there was having a good laugh at his expense, because really, someone should find this cock-up funny.

Eventually, finally she stood and pulled off her gloves, tossing them back into her open kit and snapping it closed. She stood and looked up at him. It was almost as if she was looking right through him with that clear green gaze.

"Is there anything else?" she asked with one raised eyebrow. Like he was nothing more than an annoyance to her.

He snapped his notebook closed. "No," he said. He left, passing the uniformed officers on the way out. He could see the interest in their eyes, though at least he didn't hear them talking behind his back.

Outside, it was just beginning to get light. He got into the department issued car and buckled his seatbelt. Then he whacked the steering wheel with the palms of his hands and swore.

"God fucking dammit!"

He hadn't realized how much he enjoyed arguing with her until they stopped speaking to each other. Gone too was the light flirtatious banter that had been a part of their relationship since they had started working together four years ago. He just... missed her.

Flack breathed out and started the car, pulling out onto the street that was already beginning to fill with traffic.

--

Later that day, nearing to noon, he was seated at his desk in the bullpen, filling out more of the endless paperwork that formed a large part of his job. Around him certain concessions had been made to the holiday, including strands of tinsel draped over the window frames and tacked to desks. One of the other detectives, a father of three, even had a miniature Christmas tree on his desk.

Flack felt like the Grinch in that movie his nephews and nieces liked so much, surrounded by all this Christmas glitter and growling at anyone who came close. When he next looked up it was to see Danny walk through the doorway and head over to where he was seated. Flack pulled a face.

Danny stopped in front of his desk, hands shoved in his pockets. "Flack," he said evenly.

Flack nodded. "Messer."

Danny pushed his glasses up his nose with his knuckle, an almost nervous habit. Initially, Flack had blamed him for the whole debacle. He hadn't been ready to listen to his friend's protests of innocence over the past two weeks, but he supposed he should get into the spirit of the season and let bygones be bygones. Nothing either one of them could do about it now.

"You, ah- wanna take a walk or somethin'?" the other man asked.

Flack looked down at the paperwork on his desk. "Yeah, okay," he said and rose, walking to the coat rack nearby to grab his coat and scarf. He followed Danny down the stairs and out into the cool winter air. His nieces and nephews might still be hoping for snow for Christmas, but not him. He was already wrapped up against the cold and trudging his way though the day- snow would make it worse.

He stopped on the sidewalk and looked at Danny. The other man, hands once again shoved in his pockets indicated one direction with a shrug of his shoulder and walked off, Flack easily falling into step beside him. He waited for a few minuets but the other man didn't seem to want to talk.

"So you got something to say or what?" he asked finally as they waited at a set of lights.

Danny blew some air onto his cold hands. "Look, Flack, I know you think it was me who told someone about what happened with you an' Stella, but I swear," he looked up at him. "I didn't tell anyone."

Flack sniffed as the lights changed and they stepped off the curb together. "Not even Lindsay?" he asked, knowing that Danny could get a little loose lipped with his lovers- and that his Montana meant more to him than anyone ever had before.

"I swear, man, I only told her after everyone else was talking about it in the lab. She wanted to know what was goin' on so I told her- but only the basics. I didn't tell anyone any of the details."

Flack stopped, turning to face his friend. Someone walking behind him bumped into him and swore when he didn't move. Everyone else on the footpath walked around them. "Then how the fuck do they know about it then?" he said heatedly. "I only told you."

"Look, I don't know," Danny replied. "Maybe someone overheard us at Sullivan's. You know that place is packed with cops. Any one of them could have spread it about."

Flack glared at him with his best, 'tell me the truth or I'll punch your face in, punk,' look that he usually used on suspects. "You tellin' me you didn't tell anyone about this?"

His friend glared right back. "Not a soul. You gotta believe me."

Flack sighed, turning away and rubbing a hand across his face. "Yeah, alright," he muttered. He began walking again and sensed Danny fall into step beside him.

"So how are things going?"

Flack shook his head. "Just great," he said, barely loud enough for Danny to hear. He looked up to find his friend watching him as they walked down the street, ignoring the businesses alongside and the other pedestrians surrounding them.

"What?" he asked, just a little testily.

Danny grimaced. "I'm sorry," he said, with more gravity than Flack was used to hearing from his friend.

Flack shrugged it off. "It's okay."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "You don't look okay."

He sent his friend a look and the usually talkative man fell silent, for a little while at least. They stopped for coffee on the way back to the station house, talked about inane things. Danny was talking Lindsay home to his family for Christmas. It would be a small one this year, what with Louie in the ground- just the two of them and his parents.

"So you're headed out to Queens?" Danny asked as they reached the station house and paused outside.

"Yeah," he replied. "Em's doing the lunch this year."

Danny took one last gulp of his coffee and discarded the cup in a nearby bin. "Well, Merry Christmas Flack," he said, turning to walk away

"Yeah you too," Flack said, similarly dumping the remnants of his coffee in the bin. Then he slogged his way up the stairs into the station and his desk. Collapsing into the chair, he looked at the still untouched paperwork and placed his head in his hands.

His thoughts strayed away from him, back to that night a few weeks ago where he had royally fucked up one of the few friendships he had that really meant something to him. They had sat by each other's bedsides in hospital but apparently that didn't count for as much as he thought it had. At least it didn't anymore.

They had been out drinking with the rest of the group but had left early, claiming early shifts the next morning. Somehow they had started walking, and talking together. Sure, they lived in the same general direction but it wasn't as if they were neighbors or anything. And he had gotten a little carried away with their camaraderie, with the way she looked smiling at his lame jokes under the strung up Christmas lights, with these new feelings he'd been having for a while.

He'd said, "So maybe you and me should go out sometime." He hadn't meant to. Hell, sure, he wanted to, but he hadn't known what he was going to say until it had popped out, and then there was no taking it back, so he had to go on.

She gave him this strange look he hadn't seen before. Mostly she just looked startled. "What?" she'd asked, the idea obviously never having occurred to her before.

"Just an idea," he had said then. "We should go get some drinks sometime, you know, whatever."

But dammit, he already knew what the answer was going to be. He could read it in her eyes as well as he could read a perps rap sheet. "Flack," she said, in a tone he knew meant she was trying to let him down lightly. "Don, look I..."

He had shrugged it off like it was nothing. "Hey, that's fine," he had said. "Guess I need to work on my delivery, right?" he said with an imitation of a grin, and she'd sent him an odd look out of the corner of her eyes that he had only noticed because he was watching so carefully. Yep, he had failed pretty spectacularly.

They walked on in silence for a moment but before he could think of something else to say, she had stepped off the curb and raised a hand for a cab. She turned back to him and they had looked at each other for a moment. Then a cab pulled up and she got in. And he had kicked himself all the way home.

But he had figured they'd get over it. They had been drinking after all, it could be explained away. They'd be uncomfortable at first, but then they would put this behind them.

But two days later he had walked into the locker room and the comments started.

"Hey, Flack, hear you're sleepin' your way up the ranks," one officer said.

"Well he's tryin' at least," another had enjoined, and they had exchanged grins.

Most of the ribbing had been good natured. Most just laughed at him, thinking he was stupid for even trying. But then there were other things. Rude comments about their obvious disparity in age, and in pay grade- and the gossip. Rumor upon innuendo and suddenly whole stories about them were being shared from person to person as if they were fact.

Far from getting over it, she'd very nearly stopped talking to him all together. So he was stuck standing around in silence at crime scenes and avoiding anywhere his fellow officers gathered.

He just hoped that his little nieces and nephews could cheer him up tomorrow. He needed some space anyway. He had been working nearly non stop even before the disaster that was that night and he needed some time to think. To resign himself to the fact that she was never going to be anything more to him than a friend.

Merry fucking Christmas indeed.

-------------------

Oh come on now, would I finish it there? Of course not! Chapter two in a few days!


	2. Chapter 2

The conversation in the break room came to an abrupt halt as Stella stalked in, intent on finding some caffeine to revive her tired mind. She might not have noticed, but for the fact that it had happened every time she had encountered a group of lab technicians in the last fortnight. Halting half way to the coffee pot, she swiveled on her heels and came to face the two women who were looking anywhere but in her direction.

She paused for a moment, then spoke. "Lisa, are those toxicology results in yet on the Patterson case?" she asked, her tone demanding an answer.

"Not.. yet," the young woman replied hesitantly.

"Then perhaps you should get back to work instead of gossiping about me. Your break finished ten minuets ago."

Forgoing the coffee, Stella stalked back out of the break room and down the corridor to Mac's office. She entered with barely a tap against the glass to proceed her and sank down into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

He glanced up from his paperwork. "Any luck on the Patterson case?" he asked mildly.

"Waiting on toxicology and DNA," she said with a frustrated sigh.

He looked at her carefully. "Perhaps you should go home, take a break."

Stella rolled her eyes. "I'm fine Mac. I'm still on for another two hours."

"You look like you need some sleep."

Unfortunately, sleep had proved just a little elusive in the past few weeks. "Well, so do you," she countered. Now that Peyton had decided to stay in London, Mac had gone back to his old habits of working too hard and sleeping in his office. "When was the last time you went home?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Before he could answer, her pager sounded off a series of blips. Stella snapped it off her belt and looked down at it. Yet another crime scene needed her attention. "I have to go," she told him.

He leaned back in his chair. "Make sure you get some sleep tonight."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow." Now that he was on his own again, they had gone back to their old Christmas tradition, lunch in a nearby restaurant. Invariably they would both be called out to crime scenes before they were finished eating. Christmas was like that.

Stella pulled a face as she fetched her kit and headed for the elevator. They said Christmas was a time for hope and joy and peace. In her experience, family members who hated each other placed in confined spaces together, with the addition of alcohol, lead to deadly results.

She pressed the button for the lift a little harder than she had to. In the past she had been the one making (non-alcoholic) eggnog for the lab, and stringing up strands of tinsel anywhere it wouldn't interfere with their work. Not this year. This year she was overworked, overtired, and snapping at anyone who came too close.

The elevator doors dinged and opened just as she felt someone stop beside her. She looked up to find Danny, dressed for the outside cold and with his satchel over his shoulder. She tried to smile at him as she pressed the button for the garage. "Headed home?"

He nodded, and the elevator doors closed. He turned to face her as they began to move downwards. "Stell," he said, and she looked up at him. "He didn't tell anyone about what happened, except me."

She held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it Danny."

"Look, someone overheard us talking about it at Sullivan's. It was my fault, I wouldn't let it go til he told me what happened with you two."

Stella very nearly growled. "Danny this is none of you business. Go home to your girlfriend and stay out of it, okay?" It wasn't a question.

He sent her a resentful look and Stella gritted her teeth. They traveled the rest of the way downwards in thick silence. When the doors of the elevator finally opened at the lobby, Danny got off, only to turn back to face her.

"Merry Christmas, Stella," he said, without a hint of his trademark grin.

She looked at him for a long moment. Finally he seemed to give up, and turned to go just as the elevator doors began to close. Then she spoke. "You too, Danny."

The silver doors slid shut before she could gauge a reaction from him, and she sank back against the side wall. Danny was a good friend, but he just never knew when to quit. And in all honesty, she didn't want their relationship to be ruined as well.

She tried not to think about it as she climbed into the department issued car and drove out into the cold busy streets. Just like she had tried not to think about it while relaxing at home, or lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. But it was always there, in her head, or in the insidious gossip of others that seemed to follow her around everywhere she went.

At first, when he asked, he had said it so casually, she wasn't sure if he was actually asking her out on a date, or to join the next group outing with his friends. So she had responded with confusion. "What?"

"Just an idea. We should go get some drinks sometime, you know, whatever."

She hadn't been able to read him, and the whole thing had sounded so strange. She couldn't figure out if he was actually being serious, actually asking her out on a date, or it he thought they should go out as friends.

And it was nothing like anything she had imagined. Because she had imagined it. Stella had long since grow tired of fooling herself when it came to relationships, so she had recognized that her feelings for the young man she worked with were considerably more than what would fit in the 'just friends' category.

And while she had never quite been able to hope he could ever feel the same way about her, she had indulged in the occasional daydream about them. About him asking her out, or her asking him for that matter. And what came after that. But this wasn't a dream.

"Flack," she said, before realizing that this was definitely one of those times when she should call him by his first name. "Don, look I-" And that was as far as she had gotten. He had backed away from the idea almost faster than she could blink, making some joke about pick up lines.

She had left pretty quickly after that, hailing a cab to take her home. Her heart had been left a little battered by the whole thing. After all, it wasn't every day a man she had been dreaming about asked her out and then rescinded the offer in the next moment.

But if there was one thing she knew herself to be it was resilient. So one of her dreams had died; well it had happened before, many times. She could move on.

And then the rumor had started. She had blamed him for all of a day before dismissing that idea as well. He wouldn't have intentionally spread that story around. Not only did it make him look like a fool, but her as well. He wouldn't intentionally do that to a friend.

Still, she thought as she parked the car a block from the crime scene, they hadn't really spoken since then. Admittedly, she was staying away from him to prevent further speculation about their relationship. But avoiding him also helped her avoid the little ache in her chest she got when she saw him.

In the darkness, the flashing lights of the police cars and at least one ambulance looked like a drunken parody of Christmas lights. She didn't pay much attention to her surroundings until she had ducked under the police tape and identified herself to the officer on duty. A disheveled looking young man was making a fair amount of noise in the back of one of the marked cars.

"He the perp?" she asked the officer.

"Yeah," the man said, looking up to glare at the car. "He was still here when we showed, cleaning up the blood. Took us a bit to cuff him. He got Detective Flack too." He motioned over to the nearby ambulance.

Pure instinct made her turn around sharply. He was sitting on the back step, a paramedic wrapping a white bandage around his left forearm. His gaze clashed with hers, his blue eyes at once wary and yet containing a snap of temper. She got the feeling that he had been watching her since she arrived.

After a moments pause breathing in the cold night air, she walked the few meters over to the ambulance. The paramedic had finished and he was now rolling his sleeve back down, buttoning the cuff at his wrist. He looked up as she stopped in front of him, placing her heavy kit on the ground beside her.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice revealing nothing of the turmoil inside.

He shrugged, pulling on his jacket as he spoke. "I got here with the first on scene. We found her in the living room, him in the kitchen. He grabbed a knife out of the block on the counter and came at us. I was unlucky."

She caught a glimpse of the hole in his sleeve, bright red blood visible in the bright light spilling from the open doors of the ambulance until his dark coat slid over it.

He was watching her again when she looked up, that same mixed emotion in his eyes, his face blank. "The scene's up on the third floor," he said, standing. He walked towards the entrance to the building, leaving her to follow him.

"Are you okay to work?" she asked, picking up her kit and trailing behind him.

"Fine," he said shortly.

"How did he cut you?" she asked as they walked through the lobby to the stairs. The elevator had a hand written sign declaring that it was out of order stuck crookedly over the call buttons. While outside they had been surrounded by others- the medics, police officers and bystanders- here they were, at least for the moment, alone.

He started up the stairs a set or two ahead of her and didn't look back as he spoke. "I surprised him and ended up too close. Barely noticed he got me until I had him on the ground."

She stared at his back as the reached the first floor and started up the next flight. "What did the paramedic say?"

He slowed a little, and she saw him glance down at his arm, the bandage now hidden beneath her clothes. "It's nothing serious," he said, his tone as cold as temperature in the stairwell.

Stella felt her eyes narrow. "Why didn't you-"

He spun around to face her, one hand reaching out to the wall for balance. "Why do you care?" he spat. They were almost to the second floor, and he was still two steps above her, extending his height even further.

She glared at him. "Excuse me?"

He returned her glare with one of his own. "You made it pretty clear that you didn't want anything to do with me. So what the hell is this?"

She could see a familiar hurt in his eyes. "I never said that," she said, loosing some of the heat in her voice. Then her gaze sharpened again. "You made a fucking joke!"

"What?" he demanded. "When?"

"When you asked me out," she said, finally acknowledging the events of that night out loud. "You made a joke of it."

He frowned. "I did not- wait, you were turning me down! What was I meant to do?"

"I wasn't!" she exclaimed, before shutting her mouth over the words that threatened to come tumbling out and briefly closing her eyes.

When she opened them again he was standing closer than before, his eyes locked on hers. "You weren't what?" he asked softly. "Stella..."

She sighed. "I wasn't turning you down," she said. "I just needed to think about it- and I couldn't tell whether you were being serious."

Without braking her gaze he took a step down so they were on the same level, moving them even closer together. "I was serious," he said, and his eyes told her that he was still.

They stood like that for a long moment. Distantly she could hear the sound of bells and car horns, but she was focused on the man in front of her. His eyes were clear now, though still wary. He was waiting for her reaction.

So she reached up and kissed him.

--------------------

Now remember, if you kill me, you won't know how it ends. Reviews make me happy, which makes me write faster. :D


	3. Chapter 3

_i don't want a lot for christmas/ this is all i'm asking for/ i just want to see my baby/ standing right outside my door..._

Mariah Carey, _All I Want for Christmas is You_

Flack woke up with a smile on his face. It was still early and he hadn't been able to sleep much, but it didn't seem to matter. Without much thought for the date, he got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He had somewhere he wanted to be before he headed out to Queens.

An hour later he scrolled through the list of numbers on his cell and pressed dial.

"Bonasera." She sounded sleepy, and he hoped he hadn't woken her up.

"Hey," he said. "Come outside."

"What?" she asked.

"Just come outside," he said with a grin, and clicked the phone shut, cutting off the call.

He waited for a few long minuets, his hands in his pockets and the things he had collected before he had made it to her apartment building resting on the stone balustrade beside him. Finally he saw movement inside the building through the glass door and it opened.

"Hey," he said with a grin.

She moved outside, one hand behind her still holding onto the door, the other wrapped around her waist. She was wearing simple sweats, her hair pulled back behind her head in a ponytail. Beautiful. "What are you doing here?" she asked, stepping forward and letting the door click shut.

"I bought you breakfast," he said, indicating the two cups and a brown paper bag he had lined up on the railing. He gave her one of the cups, coffee made just the way she liked it, and a blueberry and white chocolate muffin he knew she treated herself to whenever she was feeling particularly indulgent.

She smiled, looking a little bemused. "You made me come outside so you could give me coffee and a muffin."

He took a sip of his own coffee. It wasn't as hot as it had been but was still pretty warm. "Well I know better than to come up," he said. "And... I wanted to spend a little bit of Christmas with you," he admitted, a little hesitantly. They may have moved past what had happened in the past two weeks, but they were still learning each other as romantic partners, rather than just friends.

After a moment her smile widened. "Technically, we already spent Christmas morning together."

He had pulled away fairly quickly after she had kissed him in the stairwell, fighting the responses she had provoked in him. There was a scene to investigate, and they were both on duty. Whatever was happening between them was going to have to wait.

So he had met her outside the crime lab when she had finished work shortly before two am. She had looked at him with that same careful gaze she had given him earlier. "What are you doing here?'

He had taken a chance. "I thought I could walk you home."

She had frowned a little, but hadn't objected to him falling into step beside her. At first they had talked about inconsequential things but, as it so often did when it came to them, the discussion soon turned into an argument. And once she had started throwing her hands into the air, her eyes flashing, it was too much for him to resist backing her into the side of a building and kissing her like he had been aching to for two hours.

She had smiled at him then, like she was smiling at him now, a little sly, a lot confidant and entirely pleased with herself. And seeing as she had her hands full with her breakfast, he was the one who leaned down to kiss her good morning all over again. He was beginning to think that she could be a highly addictive substance.

He hadn't even given much thought to the cut on his arm. It itched a bit, but was easily ignored when he was with her. In fact he had only really paid attention to it when he had carefully avoided getting it wet in the shower.

They ended up sitting on the steps outside her building, the length of her arm pressed against his. Sometimes even she would turn to look at him, or rest her head against his shoulder, and he could smell whatever enticing product it was that she used on her hair.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" she asked as they watched people come out of their apartments and head for the small church a block away. She had insisted on sharing the muffin and now there was nothing but crumbs left.

"I'm going to my sister's place in Queens. Since mum died she and Patrick been taking it in turns since they have room for us all."

She turned to look up at him. "How many siblings do you have, exactly?" she asked, a slight furrow in her brow.

He smiled, took another sip of his coffee. "Three sisters and a brother, all married with kids."

"Older or younger?" she challenged with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes, hesitated, and mumbled the reply. She laughed. "So you're the baby of the family, huh?"

He wanted so much to take her with him to meet them all, but knew that now was not the time. They had only just started this thing between them, and they certainly didn't need any interference from his large well meaning family. And they had a lot to discuss before he would be comfortable with exposing this relationship to scrutiny.

But he just knew they would love her.

"What about you, what are you doing for Christmas?"

She smiled. "Mac and I always have lunch at this restaurant we know. We're both on call."

He checked his watch and noted for the third time that if he didn't leave now then he would be very late indeed. When he looked back up, she was watching him. "You have to go," she stated.

He quirked up one corner of his mouth. "Em will kill me if I'm late."

"Okay," she said and stood, the remnants of her breakfast in one hand. He rose to his feet as well, ending up a few steps below her, and an inch or two shorter. Before he could open his mouth to say goodbye, she leaned forward, one arm pressed against his chest for balance, and kissed him.

"Merry Christmas Don," she said when she drew back, a little breathlessly.

He grinned. "Merry Christmas."

--

It was amazingly easy to ignore the gossip about him when he went back to work the next day. After all, he had a date that night with a gorgeous, sexy woman, and it would take a lot to piss him off in light of that. He even began to see the funny side of it.

He was laughing off yet another insinuation about the nature of their relationship when Danny arrived at the crime scene. "What's so funny?" he asked with a grin.

Flack took a moment to study his friend. "Nothing, just Barker's attempt at humor."

He ducked under the crime scene tape and lead his friend into the building. "You must have had a good day yesterday," Danny said from behind him.

Flack shrugged. "Yeah. You?"

"Okay," his friend replied, and Flack knew there was a lot more that his friend wasn't saying. But that was a conversation for another time. "Get any good presents?"

"A second chance."

He watched as Danny's eyebrows shot up, obviously jumping to the correct conclusion. "What happened?"

Flack shrugged and came to a stop outside the room containing the body of a middle aged man. He kept his mouth shut and after a few long moments of silence Danny nodded.

"Okay," he said. "I get it." He frowned.

"It's not just you, Messer. Nobody's getting the details on this one."

They exchanged a glance. After a moment, Danny turned to face the door. "Right, what have we got?"

As he explained the scene, Flack checked his watch, noting the time. He couldn't wait to finish work, go see her. It had turned out to be a very merry Christmas indeed. And he was looking forward to what the new year would bring.

--

I would like to (belatedly) wish all of my readers a very Merry Christmas (or a very Happy Holiday of your choice). I hope you got everything you wanted, or failing that, that you already had everything you needed.


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